Cyborg of the Realms
by Lionfire42
Summary: In a world of war and science, the gods of metal and magic are worshiped by humanity. But now, the titans are rising, led by the god's ancient foe. Following the advice of one of their own, they take a human under their wings, training him to be a hero of both worlds. This is the story of Jackson, child of humanity, warrior of Primus.
1. Chapter 1

The great being walked through splendid halls toward the hall where he sensed unease and unrest amongst his warriors.

The room from where he emerged was one of barren stone, the only object of interest an enormous golden pool full blue liquid. Five beings surrounded it, talking in rapidly rising voices.

"Watch them slaughter each other…."

"Shouldn't we do something?"

"Bah! Humans are puny, but multiply like insects. A few thousand deaths will do nothing to end their wretched existence."

"Humph. Looks like a good rumble though."

"Brothers," the being interrupted. "Sister," he added as an afterthought. "Peace. I assume the humans fight once more?"

"As always," one remarked grumpily, the pool reflecting his orange and white armor. "They are a hopeless race. I say we finish them, once and for all, so their worthless cries and begs no longer plague my audio receptors."

"What would be the point?" a second warrior yawned. He stretched, his large green arms almost knocking over his yellow companion. "I would hardly be a battle of my time. Plus their tactics and needless bloodshed is always amusing."

"They are not a completely useless race," another remarked, the only female in the room. The blue light made her almost invisible as it was the color of her armor. The only distinguishing marks was a solid plume of pink on her helm. She reached over and delicately touched the surface of the pool. It's murky blue became clear, and showed a village of crumbling stone houses, all abandoned as it's inhabitants sought to escape the approaching army.

The image changed to the inside of one home, where a raven haired woman screamed in pain, lost in the throes of childbirth.

"My visions have shown me what lies ahead, and her child will be the key to it all. Her child holds the answer; her child will save more than his race." She looked at her brethren, cerulean optics gleaming. "He will save us all. Humanity will aid us more than we know."

"Bah!" The orange and white being scoffed. "You and your visions."

"Truly you Ratchet have felt the tides beginning to churn? Have you not felt the sudden stirring of the titan, Megatron? Or are your powers as old and worn as you are?"

Ratchet scowled, and turned to his silent leader. "Truly Optimus, you do not believe this drivel."

Optimus did not answer immediately. "Have you truly felt Megatron's stirrings?"

"I have."

"And you believe the boy will aid us?"

"I do."

Optimus nodded. "Then bring him here. I wish to see him myself. Take Smokescreen with you."

The femme, also known as Arcee smiled slightly. "As you command."

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**A kind of spur of the moment God of War/Too human/Transformers mixed prologue. I always wondered if there were cultures on Earth that would view Cybertronians as gods. Tell me what you think.**


	2. Chapter 2

Helen wiped her brow as sweat rolled down her face. The house was stifling. The cheap laser matrix must be overheating again. Not that it would matter soon.

She cast her attention to her dear friend. June's face was even paler than usual and her head lolled weakly.

The baby's cry split Helen's attention once more. Dark haired and pale, the baby slept fitfully, unknowing of the coming doom.

"Helen…." June coughed, still weak from pushing out her precious bundle. "Helen-you have to leave. Forget me. Save him."

The sudden pounding on the door interrupted what Helen wanted to say. Her heart stilled in fear, and June inhaled a ragged breath. Helen's eyes darted toward a wall, where a sonic shotgun hung. Maybe-

The door disintegrated, blinding the house with moonlight. Helen cried out, shielding her eyes. When the light faded, Helen cautiously peeked out only to drop to her knees in awe, the child clutched against her breast.

Two beings stood in front of her, radiating inhuman beauty. One was apparently male,bald, skin pale, almost white. His armor was white and streaked with red and green. The female had blue armor and blue hair streaked with pink. Their glowing blue eyes radiated with wisdom and knowledge.

"You will not be able to outrun them," the female stated calmly. She reached out with armored hands. "Give us the child."

Helen shrank away. "Who are you?"

The male spoke. "Your race would call us Smokescreen and Arcee."

Helen gasped as she bowed her head, ashamed at her behavior. To defy the gods...! Such an act was unpardonable.

"We don't have much time. The men whom call themselves MECH will be here soon and will kill you and the child. The boy is more important than you can fathom. Give him to us."

"Will...will you keep him safe?" June choked out from her tangled sheets.

Arcee's eyes seemed to soften. "I can. I will insure he is safe."

June could only nod. Helen kept her eyes to the floor as she presented them with the child.

Smokescreen took him. "Such a tiny thing, and yet, such a big destiny," he mused.

An explosion shook the floor.

"They come," hissed Arcee.

"Goodbye, my child," June's voice was but a whisper. Helen rushed over to her and grasped her pale hand. "Goodbye...Jackson." She inhaled one last breath, exhaled, then her chest fell still.

Helen choked back a sob.

"Smokescreen. We depart." Arcee commanded, turning away from the somber scene.

When Helen looked up they were gone. She shuddered as the grief threatened to overwhelm her. Then she turned and picked up the sonic shotgun, pointing it towards the open door. It was too late to run. But it was not too late to fight.

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Arcee walked over to a motorcycle parked inconspicuously and harmlessly to the side as Smokescreen walked over to a car. They got in and on their respective vehicles and the rider of each merged, protoform flesh and runes shifting and merging to form two enormous beings.

Holding the precious bundle in her servo, Arcee waved a hand, willing a Realmbridge to appear. The green and white vortex swirled into existence.

She glanced down at the child, who shifted as if her gaze was a physical movement. A slight smile graced her lips. "Come along, Jackson," she said stepping into the vortex and vanishing in a flash of light.

Smokescreen paused and looked back at the army, which was nearly at the edg of the village. "Barbarians," he hissed and pushed out his will.

For the MECH army it started as a gentle breeze, then a gust, then a stronger gust, before a tornado was in the midst of the army. Tanks flew. Guns and weapons were ripped from hands and turned against their owners, impaling and bludgeoning. Yells of battle turned into screams of fear.

Smokescreen nodded at his work before steeping into the Realmbridge in a flash of light.


	3. Chapter 3

Arcee walked into the throne room, holding the boy Jackson. A moment later, Smokescreen appeared, smirking slightly.

Ratchet leaned forward in his metal throne. The head of the throne was circular, with a large rectangular cut, reminding one of the head of a wrench. "So this is the boy?" he sneered.

"Are your optics failing as well, _Doctor_?" sneered back Starscream. His throne was jagged the back the color of gunmetal and rust, the edges rising like broken fingers. He was nearly dwarfed in the chair, a subtle reminder that it had been built for one far larger than him.

Bumblebee, stood up from his throne of gold and crossed over, examining the babe as Smokescreen sat in his chair of grey, the back streaked with black and white and curling forth in delicate patterns.

Arcee ignored him and looked around. "Where is Optimus."

The opening of gigantic doors gave her an answer. Optimus Prime strode through, the mighty and legendary Star Saber attached to his back. All gods bowed their heads in respect.

Optimus went straight to Arcee. "This is the object of you visions?"

"He is."

"Hmmm." Optimus gently took the child into his servo. He looked over the human for a moment then turn towards the center of the room. "We shall see."

With a wave of his hand, the floor parted, panels sliding away to reveal a glowing pool. Unlike the vision pool, this one glowed and hummed with life, for this was the soul of the great Primus.

Optimus walked forward. "Great Creator, we ask you now to briefly wake from your well-deserved slumber to judge this young and weak soul."

He leand forward-and dropped the baby Jackson into the seemingly bottomless well. No one said anything, though Arcee violently twitched.

Ratchet opened his mouth to say something, but a blaze of light interrupted him, spurting from the well like a wave. With cries of fear, the robotic gods stumbled away, shielding their optics.

Eventually, the light lessened and the gods opened their optics to a fantastic sight.

The human child, rescued by beings far greater than him, levitated in the colum of light, his blankets gone, revealing every aspect of skin to the holy light.

Optimus shook. "Primus…has spoken," he whispered. Ejecting his blade, he made a cut across his servo and allowed the blue energon to pool. "I give forth my life blood, in honor of the Creator's chosen one. Let the thunder embrace him and lightning be his weapon."

A wisp of blue energy drew the blood away, leaving his servo clean and healing the wound. The blue then whipped across the child's bare skin, forming glowing runes that crackled with energy.

Arcee stepped forward. A curved blade drew blood from her servo." I give forth my life blood, in honor of the Creator's chosen one. Let the moon and stars guide him, and let him ever find his prey."

Again a blue wisp took the offering and healed the wound.

Bulkhead stepped forward. " I give forth my life blood, in honor of the Creator's chosen one. Let the earth give him strength and let him ever victorious in battle."

Bumblebee stepped forward. He could not speak but his thoughts were clear. "I give forth my life blood, in honor of the Creator's chosen one. Let the steeds he travels on ever quick and let my light ever grow plants so he may feed."

Wheeljack: "Let fire never harm him and every weapon be subject to his mastery.

Seaspray: "Let the waters soothe him and may he ride across the waves unmolested."

Cliffjumper: "Let the wild know he is of a superior breed. Let all animals respect him as they do me."

Each offering was taken and each created a new rune. The only two gods having not given an offering were Starscream and Ratchet. They looked at each other for a moment, and then Starscream stepped forward. "I give forth my life blood, in honor of the Creator's chosen one. Let the fringes of death remain hesitant at claiming the child's soul."

As the rune was added, everyone looked at Ratchet. His faceplate was drawn up in a scowl of rage. "No," he said finally.

"….what?" Bulkhead blinked. Others echoed his statement.

"I honor _Primus_." Ratchet hissed. "I will not submit the blood given to me by the Creator to a _human_."

Optimus glared. Thunder rumbled ominously. "Primus has judged the child fairly. Do you dispute his claim, Ancient Healer?"

Ratchet glared back. "No. I respect his claim. But the Covenant never said I had to agree to it. Or like it." He turned away, striding to the throne room doors.

The blue light stayed steady for a moment as if waiting for Ratchet to change his mind. Then if lifted Jackson with a tendril of light and deposited it into Optimus's servo. With a flicker, it vanished.

Optimus gently stroked Jackson's soft flesh. The runes covered every part of him, save his face. He looked up just as Ratchet was opening the doors. "Primus chose the child, just as he chose you. You will one day regret your choice."

Ratchet stopped. "I regret many things, Optimus. But not this. And I am nothing like _him_."

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**So I might have dropped you into a confusing scene. I will explain more later on the gods/Autobot's history but for now here's an index on the gods.**

**Optimus: Prime of the gods. God of thunder and lightning.**

**Arcee: Goddess of the moon. The great Huntress.**

**Bulkhead: God of earth and war.**

**Bumblebee: The fastest of all gods. God of the sun.**

**Wheeljack: God of fires and forges.**

**Seaspray: God of the sea.**

**Cliffjumper: God of the wild.**

**Starscream: God of the Underworld**

**Ratchet: God of medicine and madness.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**The Artic Circle**

Micheal Boon was a regular at the Howling Trench. Every Friday, no earliar than six and no later than six-ten, Boon came in to drink the same amount of the same brand. He was punctual and polite, never raising a ruckus, never indulging, no matter how high or low he felt. He was the kind of man who came to work on time, smiled at those around him, and was completely honest.

Which is why it was no surprise that his favorite cup-a blue glass with a chip on the rim- was being openly displayed and stuffed with bronze, silver, and gold. Micheal Boon would smile no more, and his friends truly greived at his death. But the one time Micheal's honesty was truly needed, it was nowhere to be seen or heard. After all, dead men tell no tales.

And even if they did, it would be difficult when your lungs, as well as your entrails, had been tore from their enclosure of flesh and bone and thrown across the ice in a dazzling (and sickening) collage of red, pink, and tan.

Jonah Swift went past the collection at the Trench, dropping in a silver before slumping down on a seat at the bar, right next the Micheal's spot. The bar was mostly quiet, save for the ever screaming wind outside. The television was muted, the flashing screen adding flashs of stimulating color to add the atmosphere of fear, tension, grief, and disbelief.

Jonah sighed as he picked at a piece of fired penguin, shaking his neck fur of any snow that had not melted upon impact with the warm air of the bar. His polar bear trait was a mandatory requirement for Artic whale fishers, granting them extra strength, speed, and relative protection from the cold. Micheal had been a whale fisher too. His patches of his fur had been found all arond him, tinged darkk red.

Jonah shuddered and gratefully took a drink the bartender provided. He'd been part of the rescue crew that had found the body. How many times had they told the curious fisher not to wander from the group...?

Whatever had torn Micheal apart was something never seen before. People had reported a large dark shape in the storms, and heard a wailing shriek that had mingling with Micheals alternating yells of battle and for help, before tthey turned into screams of agony.

The bar door suddenly opened, sending in a punishing gust of cold. Heavy boots thumped across the floor, slow and deliberate, before they stopped at the bar. There was a pause, and then a slight squeak as the customer sat down.

Right in Micheal's seat.

Jonah stiffened as the stranger leaned forward and signaled for the bartender. The bar, already relatively quiet was completely silent. Jonah could feel stares boring in his general direction.

He looked at the stranger out of the corner of his eye. The man was well built under his black and blue cloak. His guantlets were black and silver, and his boots were the same color Jonah saw when he glanced down.

This guy was a stranger obviously, and for some reason, Jonah's temper rose at that. Who did this guy think he was, sitting in a man's seat who, no doubt, was better than he could ever hope to be?

Jonah released a low snarl, and when the bartender set down a small glass of beer in fron of the stranger, Jonah reached over and snatched in with a clawed hand.

"What are you serving this guy for?" he snarled at the bartender who looked away. "He could the one who killed Micheal!"

The other occupants of the bar shifted slightly at his words. Jonah turned in his seat, to look at the stranger who was still looking straight ahead. He hadn't reacted to Jonah's theft and Jonah couldn't see his face, which made the whaler even madder. "Where are ya from anyway?" Jonah took a long drink of his stolen beer.

The stranger did not respond.

Jonah slapped the bar with the flat of his hand, claws clacking against it. "Hey! Hey, I'm talking to you!"

The stranger still did not respond.

Jonah snarled and jumped to his feet, knocking the chair back. It clattered to the floor. "You deaf or something?! Answer me!"

A particularly strong gust shook the bar, and a another sound, unheard by all but one, was carried through the air, and strange, disturbing sound with dark undertones. Murderous undertones.

The stranger stiffened, but Jonah, still ranting, did not notice. "We don't like strangers here, and if you want to keep your deaf block attached to your shoulders, I'd walk right out-urk!"

Jonah's eyes widened as the stranger stood, flung off his cloak, and seized the unfortunate whaler by the throat in a powerful grip in one smooth movement. Struggling to breath, his eyes took in the blue and silver armor the man wore, before they traveled up to the pale face of his captor, raven hair cascading to his shoulders while blue-grey eyes stared at the door.

Jonah tried to speak, but the man cuffed him with his free hand. The cuff, though it looked casual, was hard enough to make Jonah see stars.

"Silence."

There was no sound save Jonah's labored breaths, and the screaming environment outside. After a moment, a man sittiing at a booth, slowly began to stand. "Look, sir-"

The stranger's eyes cut to him. "No!" But it was too late.

An unearthly shreik of triumph split the frigid air, and a clawed metal arm tore through the brick wall. The brave man didn't even have the tinme to scream before all but his decapitated head was pulled through. A terrible crunch was heard. Many swiftly turned green.

An ugly metal face reared through the hole, it's visor glowing brightly, terrible mouth open to roar again. It would have, had a bolt of blue energy not struck it's visor. Instead it released a gurgle of agony.

Jonah was dropped to the floor, hard. When he looked up, he saw the strange thing trying to tunnel into the wall, mandables twitching violently. The only thing stopping it was the constant blue fire that came from pistols held in each of the stranger's hands. When he began to walk towards the creature, never ceasing his heavy fire, the creature seeing him as a threat, tore it's head out of the wall and with a parting wail, disappered into the storm.

"Primus," the stranger swore. Holstering his guns and drawing a broadsword that Jonah had failed to notice for his back, he spoke to the room at large. "Please do not leave this building for a couple of hours at least. I suggest you construct a barricade and arm yourselves. Long range weapons are preferrable. They have sensetive audio receptors," he said nodding to a sonic shotgun hanging on the wall. Forgetting his cloak he strode towards the door.

"Wait," stammered the prone form of Jonah. "Who are you?"

The stranger paused. Reaching into his beat he removed a small purse and tossed it to the bartender. The man caught it and grunted in surprise at the weight of what had to be gold. "For the damages. And the beer." And completely ignoring Jonah's question, he strode of into the storm after the monster, leaving a scared group of people calling for barricade supplies, weapons, and ale.

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**Yes! This story is not dead! battle scene next chapter!**

**Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

If you had to be specific about Insecticons, first thing would be to note that they were classified as sub-Titans. Not to be mistaken for, or course, the Vehicon or the Eradicon, also known as pre-Titans, since some of them, once they reached a certain rank, were given the chance to upgrade into full-class Titans. The Insecticon, created by the infamous Shockwave, remained as mindless brutes for their admittedly short (by God and Titan standards) lives. Save for the pack leader, the Insecticon had been a creature without abandon, wreaking havoc until every drop of their energon spilled upon the floor. They had been vicious enemies, and probably still would be if not for one small problem.

The Insecticons were supposed to be extinct.

Except extinct creatures didn't slam you bodily into the ground, did they?

Jackson, warrior of Gods, could only grunt as snow was shoved forcefully into his nose. The Insecticon shrieked, raising its clawed hands and forming a metallic fist it intended to drive into the puny organic's back. But when it looked down, the organic wasn't there. And then a blade appeared in front of its visor, the point coming in fast.

Jackson drove his broadsword into the Insecticon's face, smirking grimly and it wailed and thrashed. He leapt off, pistols unsheathed on impact. Dodging a blind swipe of sharp claws, he leapt again, seizing the hilt of sword still trapped in the Insecticon's visor, and twisted it as he swung his body up and around like a gymnast. The twisting blade came free, only to lodge blade-first in the creature's lower jaw. Still twisting, Jackson flipped, landing with one foot precariously of his sword hilt, balancing easily.

When the Insecticon opened its mouth to wail in agony, the armor-clad organic hanging from its lip emptied a barrage of blue fire into the cavity. Its cries abruptly morphed into a strangled gurgle.

With practiced ease, Jackson planted his free foot on the loose lower jaw of the swaying sub-Titan. Using the foot as leverage, he bent down on it, kicking the foot he had been balancing on out and back. As he'd intended, the foot caught on his sword hilt, and then was pushed on, freeing his blade. As it began to fall, he used his bent knee to flip backwards, holstering his guns as his back arced into a somersault. He landed gracefully and rose, catching his falling sword hilt-first.

The Insecticon was clawing at its face weakly, synthegon spilling from its mouth. But as Jackson shifted into a runners stance, intent on ending the beast's life, something unexpected and disturbing occurred. Groping blindly into its subspace, the Insecticon seized something, something violet and glowing.

"No…" Jackson breathed. What the beast held was something he'd only heard about, and only in hushed whispers, in the deepest sections of Iacon's libraries.

Dark energon. The crystalized blood of the Destroyer.

The beast rammed the shard of poison into his spark chamber. The spark sputtered, seized and stopped.

For a moment everything froze. Then the sound of cracking ice sounded like a gunshot in the distance, a cue for the dark energon to flood the Insecticon's systems. Veins turned purple, and the spark flared again, this time a sickly violet.

With a triumphed screech, the Insecticon lunged forward, its speed dramatically increased. Jackson dove to the side, but the Insecticon's servo shot out, seizing the warrior and slamming him into the hard ice. The frozen water splintered and jumped as if alive.

The Insecticon leaned forward, roaring into his face. Jackson felt his armor beginning to creak under the strain of an enormous metal being practically leaning on his chest. Normally, his strength would give at least minor advantage against an opponent such as this. But the beast's every ability had been augmented by the dark energon, including its incredible strength.

What he needed was the strength of another.

Hidden beneath his armor, a rune on his right bicep began to glow. Taking a deep breath, Jackson roared out, "Bulkhead! God of war, I bid thee to give me STRENGTH!"

A deep voice within his mind answered. "You have asked, and I will give, warrior."

The rune blazed and Jackson's eyes glowed a vibrant blue. With a yell of triumph, he shoved the Insecticon's servo up and away. The creature literally flew, landing several meters away.

Jackson ran forward, the strength of a god pounding through his muscles, allowing his to cover the distance between him and his foe in mere seconds. The Insection, stumbling to its pedes tried to swat him, but Jackson leapt up between its arms, and using his armored fist, rammed his hand through its chassis, straight into the spark.

The Insection gurgled and froze. A moment passed, and had anyone been passing, they would have seen an incredible sight: a pale, raven-haired warrior with glowing blue eyes hanging onto a metal creature frozen with its arms still in the air while a small fist remained buried in the beast's chest.

The glowing purple light in the beast's visor flicked then disappeared, and the Insecticon began to slowly fall back. As it began it's descent to the ground, its body began to rapidly rust. This rust flaked away the moment in formed and by the time Jackson hit the ground on his feet, any evidence that the Insecticon had lived was reduced to a small shower of red flecks falling to the ground, the rest having been reduced to the finest slivers.

Jackson stood, the glow in his eyes now gone. He scanned the horizon for further threats, and seeing nothing, turned attention to his prize. The dark energon shard had shrunk, for it now fit into his palm. His unease grew just upon looking at it. The Destroyer's blood had not left the confines of Kaon since Creation. Nor, had the presence of the Titans been detected since a century after the Great War. The Gods had to know of this.

Touching a small button on his gauntlet, Jackson spoke clearly into a small speaker. "Jackson to Iacon. I repeat Jackson to Iacon, over."

"Jackson!" a serious yet jovial voice answered him. "You finished you're mission? How was it?"

"As well as it could be expected, Fowler."

"Need a bridge?"

"Indeed." Jackson's eyes flicked back the shard in his hand. "An urgent matter has come up. The Gods must know."

"That serious, huh?" A swirling portal of multicolored light opened in front of him. "Guess you better come on through. Welcome home, buddy."

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	6. Chapter 6

Jackson stepped out of the Realmbridge, straight from the cold abyss...

Into paradise.

The towers of Iacon stretched high into the sky, into the blackness of space. Sentry souls paced along the high walls of crystal and gold, each getting a view of the thick white clouds below the city. The sun sparkled upon the metal streets, and the air was cool. Soldiers chatted with one another while on break, while others allowed their eyes to drift about and marvel, as if they did not see the beauty everyday of their now infinite lifetimes.

William Fowler sat back from his post as the Realmbridge died behind Jackson. The Realmbride was of common make, glorious to those who'd seen it once or twice. It was constructed by soldiers for minor tasks, such as small missions issued by the gods, or transportation into the mortal realm for a soldier who'd gained vacation time and wanted to slip on a Pretenders body for a jaunt amongst the creatures they'd left behind.

In his former life he'd served as a Warrior of Primus, protecting the monks at his town Temple who'd dedicated their lives to praying and studying over His word. He was a more recent soul, having been killed only thirty-three years ago by MECH soldiers who'd overrun the small town. As he lay on the cold stone surrounded by the dead and dying bodies of his comrades and his charges, Fowler had prayed to Primus for forgiveness, bemoaning about the fact that he'd failed his duty. And Primus had answered.

In a rare show of power, Primus had awoken and liberated the souls of Fowler and twenty-nine others, twenty-one Warriors and eight monks. When he'd awoken, Fowler had been checked over by a medic soul, and he and his Warrior comrades had been clothed and integrated into the life of an Iacon soul guard.

As Fowler stood up, his thick lips spread wide into a friendly grin, Jackson unconsciously stood straighter, for Fowler's armor told of his status and demanded instant respect. All guards wore the colors of the gods who had saved them from the pits of Kaon. Great behemoths of men, great fighters in their previous life were often seen wearing the thick, dark green armor of Bulkhead. The Amazons, warrior clans of fierce beautiful women who frequented the forests and were loathed by many a cowardly man strode about in blue and pink, glaring around at the men who surrounded them and generally frightening said men silly. But Fowler and his Warriors wore the rarest armor of all: theirs was a pure light blue from head to toe, signaling to who saw them that the Creator had seen them as worthy. Even the gods showed a degree of respect for them, as they were practically considered the second favorites.

Fowler clasped Jackson hand firmly. "Jackson! You okay. You said something went wrong during your mission."

"Not wrong. Unexpected. Do you have a containment jar on hand."

Almost on cue a medic soul strode past, balancing about a dozen sparkling containment jars. Fowler reached over and snagged one. "I do now. What you got?" He ignored the protests of the medic soul.

Jackson didn't answer, preferring to deposit the dark energon shard into the jar as quickly as possible.

Fowler blanched. "Is that...?"

"Yes."

The medic, dressed in amber and white armor, leaned forward to protest and caught sight of the shard inside his jar. With a gasp, he stumbled back, tripping over his feet, and sending himself sprawling to the ground. All of his containment jars hit the metal streets and shattered.

The commotion caused every guard around the bridge to turn and look. Upon seeing the purple glow in the jar, many cries of panic and horror went up.

"SLIENCE!" roared Fowler. Turning to Jackson he said, "I'll call you a hover. You were right; the gods have to see this."

Jackson stood silently as Fowler barked orders into his comm, ignoring the baleful stares of the other guard souls. Fowler was truly the only one he could call friend, and the only soul who treated him with kindness, rather than forced respect. Being the only living organic on Iacon wasn't exactly a good thing when you were surrounded by people who, warriors or not, were still technically dead. Considering the fact that he not only was alive, but the "Champion" of the gods made many dislike him. He'd told himself for years that it didn't matter what the souls said about him. But deep inside he knew he did care what they said about him, and it hurts that their opinions weren't likely to change anytime soon.

KThe hover arrived and Jackson hopped into the back. As soon as he was settled, the driver hit the gas sending the hover leaping forward, sirens wailing. Apparently Fowler had told the man exactly how much was at stake, for Jackson had little time to wave goodbye before the hover turned a corner and Fowler whipped out of view.

In little more than five minute of speeding through the winding streets, they arrived at the gates of Tyger Pax, the temple and home of the gods. The proximity to beings of such power made his runes tingle

He attempted to thank the driver, but the guard was so terrified of the dark energon, he sped off beforeJackson had gotten around the side. Sighing, the organic Champion of the gods turned to the enormous gates. As he walked forward, the gates opened before him.

The palace was the jewel of this paradise. And Jackson was bringing in a little piece of hell

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